Tapestry
by Ariana Malfoy- Lestrange
Summary: There is a tapestry, in one of the many small rooms in my aunt Black’s house. It’s a very large tapestry and it was once a beautiful one. Well, I suppose you still call it beautiful, but it’s a very, very, very different type of beautiful.


Tapestry:

There is a tapestry, in one of the many small rooms in my aunt Black's house. It's a very large tapestry- and it was once a beautiful one. Well, I suppose you still call it beautiful, but it's a very, very, very different type of beautiful. The sort of black rose, frozen in the icy throes of winter, that morbid beauty that is found so rarely, and yet so abundantly.

Sometimes, when I'm bored, or at another pointless Death Eater meeting, I think about that tapestry, the one in my aunt Black's home. I remember the feel of it- it was soft, and the gold threads were so intricately woven, so _perfect_, it seemed. Of course, there were its flaws- the small burned names, and little holes, but other than that it really was very lovely. I remember, when I was a small child, tracing my index finger along the gold line that seemed to run forever...forever, and forever, for all eternity.

And then I remember poking the tiny little black holes, where a name once used to be. And then I remember hoping I never, ever became an insignificant hole in that tapestry, that tapestry which I loved.

Nobody seemed as fascinated as I was with it- they liked it, thought it was a pretty thing to be proud of, but none of them were as captivated by the tapestry as I was.

I remember, when I was four, playing hide-and-go seek behind the tapestry. I remember holding still as possible, even not breathing, and yet, in a sinking sense, knew that Sirius had seen me anyways.

When I was eleven, I remember receiving my Hogwarts letter, then going to show it to the rest of my family at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. I remember staring at the tapestry, looking at the flow of the gold lines that stretched till forever, and remembering that almost every single one of them went to Hogwarts, and therein, I felt an inexplicable burden- how was I to live up to the Black name?

I didn't know.

I remember, when I was thirteen, Sirius got a terrible scolding for being seen consorting with Muggle-Borns, and Half-Bloods. I remember going to the tapestry, and standing there, still staring at the gold line, for what seemed like eons...and feeling hurt for my jaw-clenched cousin, but at the same time, wondering if my relatives really were right.

After all, they had abided by such thoughts for centuries- who was a little girl to tell them any different?

And then, when I was sixteen, and Sirius ran away. What a horrible night that was. So much screaming, and then the silence, like poison, filling every nook of the house, it was suffocating. I went again to the tapestry, to once again trace the still warm burn hole that had once been Sirius's name...and I felt a pity for him, pity that he was throwing his life, pity that he was choosing the wrong side- but then a sudden thought struck me...what if I was the one to be pitied? What if I was the one who had thrown her life away, what if I was the one who had chosen the wrong side?

I stumbled back, blinded by sudden insight. But then, I forced myself to remember- I was a Black, and I meant to live up to my name, and more. I wanted the whole world to remember Bellatrix Black.

When I was seventeen, my marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange was scheduled for the following year. I sat in front of the tapestry for hours that night my mother told my family, and myself. I focused on the tiny gold lines, willing myself not to cry, not to show emotion, not to wish that things were so different. And oddly, I found myself missing Sirius. He was the only one would could've made me laugh, when I needed it most, which would be right now.

It wasn't that I hated Rodolphus- indeed, I found him a most suitable match for me. In fact, I was almost relieved that I was paired off early, so I didn't have to worry about it when I became far more unattractive, and older. The only qualm I had about the whole thing was...that I felt like my life was going down the drain. I sincerely hoped that Rodolphus would actually let me participate in the Death Eater's...not just become a trophy-wife like Narcissa.

Thankfully, Rodolphus understood, perhaps far better than anyone else, my need to succeed, and overpower- to dominate, and be in control.

So, I became a Death Eater upon leaving Hogwarts. Occasionally, I wondered about Sirius...my cousin, whom, though he didn't know it, and neither did I, was possibly my favorite. But then, I'd always remind myself what a blood traitor he was...and how he was doomed.

And this thought alone made me both uniquely happy, and horridly sad.

Then that night, the night I tortured the Longbottoms. How surreal it was! How dreamlike, and positively odd it was for me. I relished doing it, I understand that, and I understood it then, but beneath that was a sense of self-numbing bewilderment. The Longbottoms were not my first tragedy, far from it, but it affected me more in that Frank Longbottom used to hang around with Sirius- they'd tease me sometimes in Hogwarts.

I had heard about Sirius- how he was being blamed for betraying the Potters, which was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard of. A. Because Sirius and James were like_ this_, and B. Because I recruited Peter Pettigrew myself, and it was to me he passed the information about the Potters.

I remember directly after the Longbottoms, I went to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, pushed past my confused aunt, and stood in front of the tapestry, and tried to breathe, and tried to forget the screams, and the look in Frank Longbottom's eyes when he murmured " Bella..."

It was not long after the Aurors got me, and I was put into Azkaban, where I would lie awake all night, and picture the tapestry on the wall, tracing the familiar gold threads with my worn fingers.

Once we broke out...once I was reunited with the Dark Lord, only then did I stop thinking about the tapestry all the time.

There would be only three more times in my life would I ever allow myself to think of the tapestry again.

When I was dueling Sirius. I don't even remember what spell I sent at him, all I knew that I was full of adrenaline, and the thrill of dueling...like when we were small children. When I watched my cousin, Sirius Black, fall through that tattered black veil, I was reminded strongly again of the tapestry- maybe it was the way the fabric moved, or maybe it was the softness of how it looked, or maybe it was the expression on his face, which I had seen on numerous accounts when his mother would catch him playing behind it...the look of mingled fear and surprise. And right then and there, when he fell, a dull emptiness rose up in me, and I stared at the veil for many seconds.

The second time was that night, the night I killed Sirius. We were hiding in Riddle House, and I was dreaming that once again, I was little Bella, staring at the tapestry. Only this time, the tapestry was full of holes, and charred marks...the only name that wasn't burnt was mine. And the way the gold threads moved, like fire. I remember staring at it, and weeping for a reason I do not know. Maybe I wept for myself, maybe I wept for the Black family, maybe I wept for Sirius, for the Longbottoms, maybe I wept for that beautiful tapestry.

And that was the second to last time I let myself think about that tapestry.

The last time, was in the final battle. As I watched that green jet of light shoot towards me, sent by Neville Longbottom, I was once again thinking of the tapestry, time seemed to have slowed down, moving sluggishly, like water.

I drew back, admiring the way the green absorbed the surrounding light...like there was nothing else but the darkness that surrounded me, and the green light that was heading for me. Or was it gold? I couldn't tell anymore, it was too blurry, too fast, too dark, and too bright.

Then the brightness blinded me, and I fell, I fell into forever, fell, and falling still, and the darkness- the darkness was absolute.


End file.
